


Five of Swords

by ravenna_c_tan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-05
Updated: 2011-09-05
Packaged: 2020-02-09 13:45:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18639304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenna_c_tan/pseuds/ravenna_c_tan
Summary: A few years after the Voldemort war is over, Draco has left England and everyone he knew behind. He's living hard on the streets of New Orleans, making money reading Tarot cards to tourists. A mysterious stranger prompts him, though, to look into his own past... and future. (Warning: *not* smutty! I know I feel I have to warn for that since I so rarely write chaste.... Written for the hp_tarot fest. )





	Five of Swords

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the HP Tarot Fest. 
> 
> Tarot Card Interpretation for "Five of Swords": "It is a card that warns of impending failure should one continue in their present direction."
> 
> Author Notes: Thanks to nishizono for beta-reading! I had been struggling with the fic I had been writing for the fest, but then Leochi posted her art of Draco as the Five of Swords... (View: https://hp-tarot.livejournal.com/63352.html) I abandoned the old fic and I wrote this one in one day. I know it's unusual for me to write anything below NC-17, but this fic just didn't warrant smut. 
> 
> Draco has flashbacks to canon moments in the books, and I've used the actual dialogue from those scenes.

Five of Swords  
by Ravenna C. Tan

Draco shivered a little, trying to pull the edges of his too-small jacket closed. He wished for a heavy cloak or a decent set of robes. They might even help attract him some business. He glanced left, to the woman draped with fringed shawls, who had a customer staring avidly at the cards in front of her, then right, to the man seated on a folding chair, his long, black coat seeming to spill onto the cobblestones under him as he shuffled his cards for the customer on the upturned milk crate across from him. The man had a silver ring on one thumb and long hair, down past his shoulders. 

There was no customer in front of Draco just now, though, so he took the time to study the man a little. He'd only seen him here once or twice before, that was sure. He'd have noticed someone like that. He had just a hint of a British accent, though maybe that was an affectation for customers. Draco wondered. 

It was early January, gray and drizzling, and most of Draco's usual competition had stayed home, it seemed. There was plenty of space around Jackson Square for anyone who wished to read cards, busk, draw caricatures, or do whatever else they might in order to separate the tourists from their money. However, the tourists themselves were scarce for another few weeks, until Mardi Gras season began to pick up. 

Draco wondered if he could risk a warming charm. His wand was in his sleeve, where Snape had taught him to keep it. One of the last pieces of advice Draco had accepted from him before he started shutting him out. He could just slip it into his palm... Who would notice?

He shivered as he thought about Magical Law Enforcement, though. The last time they'd caught him using magic hadn't been so pleasant. And they were tricky bastards. It was one thing for Draco to read tarot cards to clueless Muggles, apparently, and quite another for him to do actual divination. For a while Draco had feared they'd break his wand. He hadn't dared use magic in public again.

He stole another glance at the man on his right, then looked away quickly as the man looked back. Draco had caught a glimpse of some kind of scar on his face, and one of his eyes was cloudy as if he were blind in that eye. 

_Probably uses some corny line about being able to "see" with it,_ Draco thought bitterly, then shivered again, thinking of Mad-Eye Moody. Which got him wondering if the new card reader could actually be from MLE. _Don't kid yourself, you're not important enough to keep such a close eye on,_ Draco told himself. 

He looked down at the silk pouch in his lap, then pulled his own deck from it. He shuffled the cards lazily, just swapping them around in his hands. His fingers were cold, though, and a card slipped free and fell, landing on the toe of his boot.

The Five of Swords. Draco shivered again and quickly snatched the card up, slipping it back among its fellows. 

"Sometimes a coincidence reveals the truth," spoke a high-voiced whisper from above him. 

He looked up to see the man standing a few steps away. 

Draco shoved the cards into the pocket of his jacket. "And sometimes I'm just clumsy."

The man smirked, on the scarred side of his face. Draco wasn't sure which would be more rude: looking away or continuing to stare. 

"I want you to do a reading," the man said, sitting down on the upside-down bucket Draco had draped with a handkerchief to make a seat for his customers. 

"Give me a cup of coffee," Draco snapped back, "and I will."

"Coffee?"

"Professional courtesy," Draco said, standing up. "I won't take your money, but I will accept that."

"Ah, I see. Coffee it is. You've a shop you like?" The man gestured for Draco to lead them. 

Draco took up the bucket first, put his own short stool into it, and then the folding tray that served as his reading table. He carried it with them as he led the man into the French Quarter, his heart beating hard.

The man couldn't be a regular card reader. He had to be new to it, at the very least. Draco'd had to learn the ropes when he'd started, too. But what if this man wasn't who he seemed to be? What if he was from the wizarding world? 

Or what if he was some other kind of freak? Draco had seen all kinds in two years living on and off the street. 

These thoughts ran through his head as he led the man to the Royal Cup. Most of the seating was out in a courtyard, but if they were lucky... yes. There was a small table free in one of the side rooms of the coffeehouse. Draco went up to the counter and ordered something large and steaming, then doctored it with chocolate shavings before settling at the table. The mystery man followed with what looked like tea.

They sat in silence for a bit while Draco allowed the heat from the coffee to seep into his fingers and his throat. "This raw weather lasts for a while," he said, "before it warms up again."

The man made a noncommittal hum of agreement into his own cup. 

"You have to tell me something about yourself for me to do a reading for you," Draco tried. 

The man looked at him then, directly into his eyes. "I said I wanted you to do a reading. I didn't say it was about me."

"What? Who then?"

"Yourself."

Draco nearly stood up and walked out then, but the stare the man was giving him was intense. And curiosity was stronger than fear at this moment. "Myself? And what should I be seeing?"

"Well, you tell me. The past, the present, the future? You drew the Five of Swords before."

"I didn't draw it, it fe--"

"What do the five represent?" The man continued, as if Draco hadn't spoken. "Are they five years of your life? Five mistakes you've made?" His voice never rose above a whisper, yet Draco could hear every word. "They're swords, phallic. Are they five men you've known?"

Draco hadn't intended to think back over the past five years, nor to the biggest mistakes of his life, but of course once the words were spoken, he couldn't help himself. It wasn't like a spell, not at all, just the simple fact of being mentioned made it impossible not to think. Five years ago he'd still been in school. Lucius had just been sent to Azkaban for the debacle at the Ministry. 

He shivered. Was it five years ago he took the Dark Mark? It was. He tugged at his sleeve, making sure the mark stayed covered, even faded as it now was, and making sure his wand was still there. 

"Who was the first man? What was the first mistake?" The man asked.

Draco's father's face seemed to swim in front of his eyes. The night of the Ministry attack. Lucius had communicated to him by mirror. Draco had seen his father arrayed in his Death Eater robes, his mask hanging at the shoulder, before he leaned close to the mirror to speak in a low voice. 

"I go to do something for Him tonight, Draco," Lucius had said. "I am sure all will go well, but--"

"Where are you going?" Draco had blurted, huddled in his bed, the curtains closed and a privacy charm cast thrice. 

"I cannot tell you that," Lucius said, annoyed, and Draco immediately regretted asking. "As I was saying, I am sure all will go well, but in case it does not, you must promise me, my son, that if I am no longer able to protect the legacy and glory of the Malfoy line, you must do it for me."

"Of course! Of course I will." 

"Good. Your mother is staying home. Write to her tonight. I am sure she would welcome an owl from you, you know."

"I will."

And that was the last time they had spoken. Draco had only found out the next day that his father had been captured and arrested, attacking the Ministry of all places! Draco truly wondered how he was expected to follow in his father's footsteps. The day he'd returned to the Manor after school, though, he found out. He'd been Marked that night. 

His memory of the actual ceremony was hazy at best. Terror was a powerful drug and he barely expected to survive the night. He remembered black robes and white masks and the sound of his screams echoing off the stone, though at first he'd barely recognized the sound as his own voice...

He wrenched himself back to the present. He hadn't thought about that in a long, long time. 

The man looked serious and just nodded at him. "And what about two?"

"Two?"

"The man after the first," he said, as if that explained everything. 

But Draco's breath caught. Snape was number two. His father figure away from home, the one he turned to... that is, until he stopped turning to him. 

Snape had cornered him after the humiliation at Slughorn's party. And they'd argued over what Draco was going to do. Draco had refused to tell him of his plans, insisting he had all the help he'd needed. The memory was sharp and bright as a knife kept sealed away by a charm and never touched, never tarnished.

"Where do you think I would have been all these years, if I had not known how to act?" Snape had said. "Now listen to me! You are being incautious, wandering around at night, getting yourself caught, and if you are placing your reliance in assistants like Crabbe and Goyle —"

"They're not the only ones! I've got other people on my side, better people!" Draco had cried.

"Then why not confide in me?"

Draco had refused. Bellatrix had warned him that Snape was out for himself, and if he fell, he'd take Draco down with him. Draco had trusted Snape for years. Had looked up to him and even admired him. But after Lucius was gone, and Draco had taken his father's place...

He wished he had confided in Snape, then. There were times he imagined it, vividly, how that conversation could have turned had he stopped to truly think about things. 

Another vision seemed to rise unbidden in his mind then, from the depths of his imagination, where he had thought it buried, deeply buried and forgotten. 

"Confide in me," Snape continued, "and leave these childish things behind. Your Aunt is no better than a spoilt brat who can cast Unforgivables. Will you follow her path? Or mine?"

Snape leaned close as he said this, not in a threatening way, but with a slow movement that barely rustled his robes. 

Draco tried to muster an answer. "She says... she says you don't really support our master. That you... that you're out for yourself."

"Draco, honestly. Have you seen the way she grovels at his feet? She would lick his boots if he let her. In her estimation, no one could possibly be loyal enough. Except perhaps herself."

Draco wavered. "She... That's not..." 

He couldn't quite recall what they were arguing about. He felt a hand pulling at his, warm and dry, lifting it, clasping it between solid palms. Snape looked into his eyes. "I swore the Unbreakable Vow to protect you."

"That's... that's between you and my mother and nothing to do with me," Draco said. 

"I won't stop you," Snape continued. "But I can help you keep from making mistakes. Not even the Dark Lord need know how I've helped you."

"Oh." That rather burst the bubble in Draco's mind that Snape meant to usurp his tasks and humiliate him even further in front of the Dark Lord and put his family deeper into peril. Draco couldn't bear it if it were his fault that his mother were killed, or tortured, for his failure...

His breath caught as a sob threatened to choke him. 

"I know how it feels when it seems you've nowhere to turn," Snape said. "When you're alone."

Draco wasn't sure exactly when he grabbed Snape hard around the ribs and burst into tears like a child. He also wasn't sure exactly when that fit of tears turned into a kiss. Or when the kiss turned from watery to fiery, his passion igniting like a forgotten flame. The feel of Snape's tongue darting between his lips was too much and he let out a wanton moan.

Draco shook himself, his cheeks flushing. Childish and puerile to have such thoughts about a man old enough to be his father... 

The man across the table was snapping his fingers to get his attention. 

"Sorry," Draco said, and took a deep gulp of his coffee. It was still hot and scalded a little on the way down, but he tried not to show it. 

"You were a million miles away," the man said. "See anything interesting?"

Draco shook his head. "Memories. Regrets. An old daydream." He shrugged. 

The man lifted his teacup and sipped, still looking at Draco over the rim of the cup. "Well, that was two," he said in his odd whisper. "Was it a mistake, or a man?"

"Both," Draco said, shaking his head again.

"Then what was three? Swords are war, swords are conflict. And three is everything out of balance. What or who was three?"

Harry Potter, Draco thought. They'd tried to kill each other, that time in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Draco had gone there because Snape had been right. He needed help. He needed someone to listen when he felt all alone. And having pushed Snape away, regardless how much he wanted to take it back and go to him--the daydream about Snape kissing him was ample evidence of that--he was forced to turn to a ghost for comfort and advice.

"But you're not alone, Draco," she had tried to tell him as he'd cried. "Why don't you ask for help? What about... what about Harry?"

"Would the great and powerful Harry Potter help me, if I asked, if I begged?" he'd asked her. "I doubt it. He's hated me since the moment we met."

"But he's a good boy," she insisted. "If he knew what you were being forced to do..."

"No! I can't tell anyone. He'll kill... my parents... he'll..." The tears were flowing so thick he couldn't see his own reflection in the mirror. "I can't do it... I can't. It won't work... and unless 1 do it soon... he says he'll kill me!"

And then Potter had ruined even that. No, they hadn't tried to kill each other. Draco had tried to Stun him, then cast Cruciatus, and Harry... Harry had tried to kill him. As Draco had fallen to his knees, he'd thought, _so much for the virtuous hero._ So much for a chance to join his side.

And then Snape was there. Healing him. And carrying him, in his arms, to Madam Pomfrey. That was pretty much all Draco remembered after Potter's hex. Snape's voice, and the feeling of his arms around him.

Draco wiped at his eyes. They'd grown a bit wet. The man was looking away now, fussing with his tea, giving Draco a moment. Draco picked up his coffee, which still seemed quite hot. He sipped it more cautiously this time, letting it soothe his nerves. He was surprised it held its heat so well, but he supposed perhaps more time had seemed to pass in his mind than had actually passed here in the coffeehouse.

He looked up at the man. "What do you want?"

The man's head jerked upward. "Who said I want anything?"

"Listen, I've met plenty of weirdos on the street here..." Draco began, but then he shook his head as if it wasn't worth the bother. "Look, I should get back to work."

"Back to sitting in the cold on a dismal afternoon when no one's making any money anyway," the man said. "Be honest. Is it my face? You're uncomfortable looking at it."

"What? No, of course not!" Draco insisted. "I mean, all right, it's a bit startling at first, but I'm getting used to it." He set down his coffee. "Seriously. I'm not afraid of your face. Maybe whatever did that to you, though."

The man laughed—a dry rasp, but a laugh nonetheless. "Indeed," he said. He set down his own cup. "You should finish, though."

Draco knew he didn't mean the coffee. Like it or not he was on a five-stop journey down memory lane. He sighed. "Very well. Where were we? Number four?" 

"Four. In the orient, four is the number of death," the man said.

Draco nearly closed his eyes as he thought about Dumbledore, about the horrible sinking sensation in his stomach as he realized they were alone atop the tower and there was nothing else he could do. But the man across the table's eyes were warm and seemed to care, even if all he was doing was sitting there. He made Draco feel less alone, even if just for a moment. 

The top of the Astronomy Tower had not been particularly cold that night. Draco didn't even recall any wind. But he had other things to worry about. Like the fact that he had just disarmed the old wizard and now he couldn't bring himself to do the final deed. 

"Draco, Draco, you are not a killer." That's what Dumbledore had said. "You resorted to crude and badly judged measures such as sending me a cursed necklace that was bound to reach the wrong hands, poisoning mead there was only the slightest chance I might drink..."

"Yeah, well, you still didn't realise who was behind that stuff, did you?" Draco had challenged, feeling sicker by the moment. 

"As a matter of fact, I did," said Dumbledore. "I was sure it was you."

Then surely, surely, the old man would have spoken to him before now? Before it was too late? "Why didn't you stop me, then?"

"I tried, Draco. Professor Snape has been keeping watch over you on my orders--"

That was like a kick in the gut. It couldn't be true! No, if it were, Snape would have protected him, truly protected him! He would have hidden Draco and Narcissa somewhere safe, wouldn't he? "He's a double-agent, you stupid old man, he isn't working for you, you just think he is!" 

Dumbledore didn't really argue the point. "I appreciate the difficulty of your position, Why else do you think I have not confronted you before now? Because I knew that you would have been murdered if Lord Voldemort realised that I suspected you. I did not dare speak to you of the mission with which I knew you had been entrusted, in case he used Legilimency against you. But now at last we can speak plainly to each other... no harm has been done, you have hurt nobody, though you are very lucky that your unintentional victims survived... I can help you, Draco."

_You stupid old fool,_ Draco had thought at the time, and thought it again now. _Now you offer me a choice, when it's too late? Far, far too late?_ "No, you can't. Nobody can. He told me to do it or he'll kill me. I've got no choice."

But Dumbledore again had offered him safety, hide him and his mother, wasn't that exactly what Draco had been thinking himself? 

What if he had said yes at that moment? What would Dumbledore have done? Did he expect Draco to hand over his wand and defend him against the Death Eaters who came up the stairs next? Would they have Apparated away, to an Order of the Phoenix safehouse? Even if Dumbledore had been telling the truth, if Draco had said yes, would that have changed anything?

The others, and then Snape, had come up the stairs, and then Snape had done the deed. 

Draco was shaking. He reached for his coffee with a hand trembling so badly he spilled it, hot coffee slopping onto his fingers. He snatched his hand back and stuck his fingers in his mouth -- the cup had remained miraculously upright. 

The strange man reached out and took him gently by the wrist. "Here, I have something for that." He pulled Draco's hand toward him, slowly but firmly, and took a vial from his pocket. 

Draco held still, allowing the man to dab the potion on. Because that was what it was. Muggles didn't make something that could take away pain that quickly. "You can stop hiding your British accent," Draco said, just to see what the man would do.

"And you can stop hiding yours," the man replied.

They stared into each other's eyes. 

The man spoke first. "You're right, you know. Nothing would have been different, that night on the tower. Dumbledore offered you a choice, but it was just to stall you. He was waiting for me to come kill him all along."

Draco tried to pull his hand back in shock, but found it held firmly. "Potter said you were his man. All along. At the end, when he killed the Dark Lord. And that Dumbledore had asked you to kill him."

Snape brought his other hand up and pulled the ring from his thumb. The glamour he'd worn to change his features--but not hide the scar or his marbled eye--fell away. He set the ring on the table and then put his other hand over Draco's as well. Draco saw the end of his wand just inside the cuff of his sleeve. "How long have you known it was me?"

Draco swallowed. "I didn't. Not until you said 'Dumbledore.'"

Snape dropped his gaze to their clasped hands. "I apologize for using Legilimency. But I had to know."

Draco felt his cheeks flush again. "Had to know what? What Dumbledore said to me that night?" And then his flush deepened. "Or what juvenile fantasies I had about you when I was a teenager?"

"As I said, I apologize. I... merely meant to be sure it was you." It was difficult to discern remorse in that whisper, but Draco thought he could see it in the line of Snape's brow.

"You could've asked me."

"Oh, and if I'd sauntered up to you and said, 'are you Draco Malfoy' you'd have said, 'yes, sir, of course I am?'"

"Well, no." Draco drew a deep breath, his head spinning. He wasn't a child anymore. He wasn't a Death Eater anymore either. He was his own man now, and hard as his life might seem, at least he was making his own choices.

He raised his head suddenly, and met Snape's eyes again, but this time he knew to have his Occlusion in place. Snape's eyes narrowed and then he looked almost... hurt. 

"It was the _five_ of swords," Draco said. 

"I know," Snape replied, his hands still not moving from where he held Draco fast.

"So, you haven't asked me who the fifth man is."

"Maybe you should ask yourself that question, Draco."

"That's not the right question," Draco said. "You know what the five of swords really means?"

"I admit Divination class was a very long time ago." 

"It means continuing on the same path will lead to ruin. Sticking with the same path instead of making the other choice. Perhaps making any choice."

"Oh, really," Snape whispered, but his face belied his disinterested sarcasm. "And what choice would you be making?"

Draco took a breath. Snape had seen his deepest thoughts and his worst moments. And still he was here. He'd searched him out, and it looked like he had no intention of letting go... unless Draco chose to walk away. 

"I choose you," Draco said in a whisper himself. "I choose you."

Snape swept him into a kiss then, far better than the one Draco had imagined all those years ago, and this time no charm kept the coffee from spilling.

**Author's Note:**

> There is also a Spanish translation by maidenlasso on LJ: https://maidenlasso.livejournal.com/957.html


End file.
